


Mellifluence

by BazinMousqueton



Series: The Body and the Battle [13]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Athos's Scarf, Canon Era, Established Aramis/Porthos, Explicit Sexual Content, Food Play, Four-poster Bed, Hand Jobs, Honey, Light Bondage, M/M, Masturbation, Morning After, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Second time threesome, Spoilers through to 1x10, Teasing, Terrible Blacksmithing Double Entendres, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-11 18:11:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9001198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BazinMousqueton/pseuds/BazinMousqueton
Summary: More OT3! Still nothing but porn, in a four-poster bed. In which Porthos brings the ropes, Aramis tells a story, and Athos is frustrated. Extremely frustrated. Or: Porthos and Aramis tie up Athos and tease him, with honey and words, until he begs for release.The fics in this series are chronological but standalone -- there's no need to read the earlier ones to enjoy this.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lady_Neve](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Neve/gifts), [Jackfan2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackfan2/gifts).



> Thanks to [CanadianGarrison](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CanadianGarrison/pseuds/CanadianGarrison) for brilliant beta-reading (all mistakes my own).
> 
> Dedicated to Lady_Neve and Jackfan2, who both requested the story of Aramis's meeting with Pierre the blacksmith.
> 
> Set after season 1.
> 
> Happy New Year to everyone! I'd love it if you have time to leave me a comment.

A shout from outside woke Athos. He had the four-poster bed to himself. Sunlight flooded through the open window and pooled on the damask bedspread. The argument in the street below escalated: two carts trying to pass, Athos deduced; neither of them willing to give way. From the glorious smell, one of them was a farmer from Provence with a wagon-load of lavender. 

He rolled onto his back and stretched luxuriously. The lavender's scent soothed him. The fracas wasn't his problem. The down-stuffed mattress was the softest he'd slept on in years.

He felt gratifyingly tender after being fucked by Porthos. He closed his eyes again, focusing on the ache and remembering Porthos taking him; Porthos filling him; Porthos pinning his arms behind him. Athos rolled his shoulders. He pictured Aramis underneath him. His cock, already half hard, stiffened. He threw the covers off, spread himself in the warm sun, and basked. 

Bare feet climbed the staircase: one pair, dancing lightly up the steps. 

"Well," Aramis said, halting in the doorway. "You're quite the sight, my friend."

Athos slitted his eyes open. Aramis wore breeches and a shirt, the shirt untucked and billowing, his braces dangling. Extravagantly handsome. Excessively cocky.

"I trust you've brought breakfast?" Athos said, keeping his tone disinterested.

"I've brought honey," Aramis said, hoisting an earthenware jar. 

Heavier steps echoed from the hallway: Porthos, bounding up the stairs two steps at a time.

"Is Porthos bringing the bread?"

"Porthos," Porthos said, putting an arm around Aramis from behind and holding out his cargo, "is bringing the ropes."

Porthos wore only his hat. It was a good look. Rakish. Aramis appraised Athos, smile turning predatory. Athos struggled to preserve his bored expression; heat prickled in his groin and across his chest as his body betrayed him. His stomach fluttered. 

"Perhaps we should close the window?" Athos said, imagination running wild. Interruptions would be unbearable. 

"Maybe later," Aramis said, placing the honey on the sideboard. "Consider it a test. Can you remain quiet? We wouldn't want to alarm passers-by."

Athos didn't dignify him with a reply.

Porthos threaded his way across the room via the various piles of discarded clothes. He gathered Athos's scarf and Aramis's sash and handed them to Aramis. Aramis draped them around his neck, swarmed onto the bed and straddled Athos. The worn leather of his breeches pressed cool and soft against Athos's sides. Aramis gazed down, his dark eyes intent. Athos, pinned by the stare, stopped breathing. His lips parted.

_Kiss me._

Aramis swooped. The hem of his shirt trailed feather-light across Athos's front. The kiss started soft. Athos let Aramis lead. Aramis's tongue teased. His beard rasped against Athos's. His hands pinned Athos's wrists to the bed. The kiss deepened. Athos arched into it. Aramis pulled away, leaving Athos gasping for breath, his composure scattered.

"Beautiful," Porthos said. His voice rumbled low; Athos had realised the previous night that Porthos's voice deepened with his arousal. He took a wanton joy in having had such an effect on Porthos merely by kissing Aramis.

Aramis wound his sash around Athos's right wrist. Athos watched, eyebrow raised. Aramis tucked in the end of the sash and nodded to Porthos. Porthos advanced, a length of rope between his hands. He tied it around Athos's wrist expertly, the knots secure, leaving no slack. Aramis's sash cushioned the coarse hemp of the rope.

Athos nodded at the sash. "That isn't necessary," he said.

"Rope burns," Aramis said, taking Athos's left wrist and wrapping his scarf around it.

Athos hesitated before speaking, unused to revealing his desires. Aramis stilled. Athos steeled himself.

"I enjoy rope burns," he said.

Aramis preened -- a man whose theory had been proved right. And, judging by his sidelong glance at Porthos, a man who'd won a wager.

"Visible rope burns might be hard to explain," Aramis said. 

"But rope burns you can keep hidden..." Porthos said, looping a rope around Athos's bare left ankle and pulling, "...those, we can give you."

The rope's fibres abraded Athos's skin. Athos hummed contentedly. His cock twitched. Porthos continued to bind him: rope on skin at both ankles, rope over fabric at his wrists. Aramis hopped off the bed. Porthos pulled the ropes tight and attached each to a bedpost, leaving Athos spread wide. Athos wriggled experimentally. He could barely move. His mouth felt dry. His heartbeat raced. 

Porthos winked. "You're not going anywhere," he said. 

"Unless you request release," Aramis said, circling the bed. "You are not a prisoner. This is not a punishment. The ropes are for your pleasure. I will cut you free the instant you ask." 

Aramis held up a knife. Athos recognised it as Porthos's preferred _main gauche_ , his new one, from Aramis. Aramis's guilt-gift, Athos had thought it -- atonement for sleeping with the Queen. Aramis examined the dagger, tilting it to catch the light. 

Porthos collected the honey jar. He lifted off its lid and pulled out a spoon, rounded with honey. He stood at the side of the bed and held the spoon over Athos's chest. 

"Interesting story about this dagger," Aramis said.

Athos kept his gaze fixed on the honey. It would overflow the moment Porthos tilted the spoon. He judged its likely trajectory. His nipple tingled in anticipation.

"Is this the time to discuss weaponry?" he asked, not entirely succeeding in keeping the breathlessness out of his voice.

Porthos grinned. He put the honey spoon into his mouth, sucking lasciviously. He was still wearing only his hat. Porthos's cock stirred, thickening. Athos's cock, already hard, ached.

"I like discussing weaponry," Aramis said. He prowled to the sideboard and propped himself against it, long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles.

Porthos scooped up a second spoonful of honey. He held it over Athos's other nipple. Athos bit his lip. 

"And besides," Aramis said, running his fingertip around the dagger's chain-wrapped hilt, "you wanted this story yesterday."

Porthos angled the spoon. Honey slid slow through a beam of sunlight. Athos gasped as it hit: cold, warming fast; summer-scented.

"It's about a blacksmith called Pierre," Aramis said. 

Porthos trickled a spiral of honey around Athos's nipple. The nipple tightened.

"There's an artisan's tavern in Faubourg Saint-Antoine," Aramis said. "Les Boules Bleues. Do you know it?"

Porthos chuckled. "La Boule Blanche," he corrected.

Athos, head swimming, didn't answer.

Porthos climbed onto the bed, rocking Athos without touching him. He bent over Athos's chest. The brim of his hat brushed Athos's neck. Athos made a soft noise he chose not to identify as a whimper. Porthos lowered his mouth onto Athos's honey-coated nipple and sucked. 

It felt... _sublime_. Athos moaned.

Porthos pulled away, licking honey from his lips. 

"La Boule Blanche," Aramis said, his tone studiedly casual. Athos narrowed his eyes. There was a precision to his friends' actions, he realised. A precision he recognised. He'd seen them work in concert to break men. He was damned if they'd break him.

"What took you to this tavern?" he drawled.

Porthos dripped honey onto the inside of Athos's right elbow. It spread. Porthos watched. Aramis stroked Porthos's dagger, running his thumb along its quillons. Athos swallowed.

"It was lunchtime," Aramis said. "I was in the area. Visiting a seamstress, as it happens, but that's a story for another time."

Porthos touched the tip of his tongue to the crease of Athos's elbow. Athos bucked. Porthos sat back on his heels. He held a hand out towards Aramis.

"I noticed Pierre's smile first," Aramis said, pouring Porthos a goblet of wine. "Across the other side of the tavern. It lit up the room, made everyone around him smile."

"His eyes crinkle," Porthos said, taking a swig of wine and leaning down to Athos's arm again.

"Then I saw his shoulders," Aramis said, with a shiver. "I like a man with broad shoulders."

Porthos huffed out a breath against Athos's skin. Athos trembled.

"Then his beard," Aramis said, his voice turning husky. "All wayward auburn curls. His hair too. I wanted to run my fingers through it; had to tuck my thumbs into my belt to stop myself. I caught his eye. He finished his tankard, wished his friends good day."

Porthos drizzled a line of honey from Athos's elbow to his shoulder. 

"I followed him back to his forge," Aramis said. "Ten steps behind; watching him weave his way through the crowds. He moved like a bull. Head down, step impatient. Wide shoulders, narrow hips. A dancing bull. An eminently fuckable bull."

Athos had never heard anyone talk like that about a man. Aramis spoke with appreciation and desire; an enjoyment of the man's body and strength that had nothing to do with how well he did his work.

Porthos lapped honey from Athos's biceps, his tongue pressing firmly. His teeth grazed Athos's shoulder, and bit down. 

A thrill ran up Athos's neck. He let out a shuddering breath. He savoured the constraints around his wrists and the sting searing his ankles. His cock ached. He wasn't sure which was undoing him more: Porthos's tongue, touching him, or Aramis's, beguiling him.

Aramis tossed the dagger from hand to hand, casually proficient. Casually lethal. Athos shuddered again. He wondered how long he could withstand their torment.

"A customer was waiting for him," Aramis said. "I admired Pierre's weapons while they discussed nails."

"Admired his weapons?" Athos said, sarcastic, through gritted teeth. Porthos, honey-tongued, ran a line of kisses along Athos's jaw. 

Aramis laughed. "He keeps an excellent selection of swords and knives on display," he said. "The other customer left. Pierre rolled up his sleeves and turned to me. His arms were freckled, and stippled with spark-burns." 

Porthos poured honey onto Athos's stomach. It filled his belly button. It missed his cock. Athos, desperate for relief, thrust his cock towards the sweet stream. Porthos tilted his wrist, making sure Athos couldn't reach. Athos ground his teeth.

"We weren't destined to have any privacy," Aramis said. "A neighbour wandered in and sat herself down near the fire, warming arthritic hands. Pierre turned to me. ' _Does anything catch your fancy?_ ' he asked." Aramis used a gruffer voice for Pierre. "I looked him up and down. ' _Perhaps a dagger?_ ' I said."

Porthos took off his hat and skimmed it through the air to Aramis. Aramis put it on. Porthos bent to suck honey out of Athos's navel. His cheek moved close to Athos's cock, never touching. Athos realised he was panting. He forced himself to take deep breaths. His cock throbbed.

Aramis put down Porthos's dagger and folded his arms. "' _A man can never have too many daggers,_ ' Pierre said. I agreed. I told him I was buying a gift for a friend. Pierre held my gaze. ' _They say a gift brings joy to the giver,_ ' he said. I stared back. The neighbour got out her knitting. ' _With one of your fine daggers,_ ' I said, ' _I would be equally happy to be giver or receiver._ '"

Sweat beaded on Athos's forehead. 

"Another customer arrived. ' _Perhaps you'd like to come back at a less busy time to discuss your needs,_ ' Pierre said. The neighbour's knitting needles clacked. ' _Tonight?_ ' I asked. Strike while the iron's hot, I always think."

Porthos laughed, dimpling. Honey glazed his lips. "Go at it hammer and tongs, you always think."

Aramis spread his hands in acknowledgement. "Pierre informed me a group of... _weapons enthusiasts_... would be meeting at his forge that evening. He invited me to join them. I got the impression my interest in... _daggers_... would be shared."

"And if they had, truly, been interested only in daggers?" Athos asked.

Aramis shrugged, grinning. "I would have had a very different, but equally diverting, evening."

"Aramis really likes discussing weaponry," Porthos said, swilling wine around his mouth.

"I had noticed," Athos said, as dry as he could make it. His need was becoming unbearable. How much longer could Aramis and Porthos taunt him?

Honey had spread over Athos's hip bones and onto the top of his thighs. Porthos followed it down, still taking care to avoid Athos's cock. Athos quivered as Porthos's beard grazed his leg and Porthos's tongue stroked his hip.

Aramis took off Porthos's hat. He put down the dagger. He slipped his shirt over his head and stood in only his breeches. 

_Finally._

He unbuttoned his breeches. Athos, sweat soaked and breathless, fixated on Aramis's fingers: clever, precise, knowing. 

_And still not touching me._

"That evening..." Aramis said, leaning back against the sideboard, his breeches hanging open. 

"More story?" Athos said. 

"Aren't you enjoying the story?" Aramis asked. "Believe me, the evening is where things get interesting.

Athos's cock, taut and straining, jumped. 

Porthos smiled. "Oh, he's enjoying the story alright," he said. 

"Perhaps you could... _condense_?" Athos said.

Aramis cocked his head in thought. He unlaced his linens, revealing his erection. 

"Perhaps I could," he said. "There were three men, plus Pierre." He pushed down both breeches and linens, stepped out of them, and advanced on the bed. 

Porthos pulled back from Athos and moved the honey jar and his wine goblet to the floor. Athos's nerve-endings shivered. 

"One of them was a clerk," Aramis said. "He had the softest hands. Only one callus, ink-stained." He touched the knuckle of his middle finger to his lips. "The second--"

Athos growled. " _Condense_ ," he said. 

Aramis stared Athos in the eye. 

"I elected to receive."

Athos's heart thumped. "All four?" he asked. 

Aramis stretched, muscles flexing across his perfect bare chest. "All four. One after the other. All night."

Athos imagined the scene: Aramis being fucked by four strangers. It was debauched. Dissipated.

Delightful. 

He moaned.

Porthos curled his tongue around the tip of Athos's cock, giving him a single, tantalising, lick and kneeling back on his heels. Aramis settled onto the bed on the other side of Athos, mirroring Porthos. 

Athos tensed. Last time his friends had sat like that they'd sucked his cock between them. He shut his eyes.

The bed rocked gently. 

The expected touch didn't come. 

Athos waited, his cock painfully hard.

Nothing.

He opened his eyes. 

Aramis and Porthos, smiling beatifically, each stroked themselves left-handed. Porthos moved in a slow rhythm, flicking his wrist a half-turn on each upstroke. Aramis worked fast, his thumb circling the top of his cock. Both men's heads were thrown back, their breathing fast and laboured. 

Disappointment and desire twisted, acid, through Athos's gut. He reached for a semblance of calm; didn't speak until he was certain his voice would remain steady.

"Really, gentlemen?" he asked. 

"Really," Aramis said. He slowed and nodded at Porthos's dagger, on the sideboard. "Unless you want to be released."

He looked far too pleased with himself. Athos, his cock leaking, fought for control. 

"Continue," he said. 

Aramis picked up his pace. He glanced at Porthos. They moved into a synchronised rhythm. Aramis muttered Latin under his breath, too quiet for Athos to catch anything except the cadence. It could be poetry or bible verses. He made out numbers: _unum, duo, triplex_. Porthos moaned, low-pitched.

Athos looked from one to the other, tallying the signs. Aramis's right hand clenched into a fist. Porthos's breath hitched. Aramis tossed his head, throwing his hair off his face. Porthos arched his back--

\--and came, his release splashing warm across Athos's cock. Aramis followed a heartbeat later, juddering as he came. They collapsed into each other's arms, across Athos's body, their legs pressing against his sides.

Athos wanted release as much as he'd ever wanted anything. 

He watched as Aramis and Porthos's breathing slowed. Porthos mopped his brow and placed a tender kiss on Aramis's forehead. Aramis caressed Porthos's cheek. 

Athos _blazed_ with need.

Aramis and Porthos released each other. They climbed off the bed. Aramis retrieved the jar of honey, took out the spoon, and put the lid on. He popped the spoon in his mouth, humming in pleasure.

Porthos ambled around the room, picking up their scattered clothes and laying them over the back of the chair. 

Athos shook. He remembered the open window and pressed his lips together to stop himself shouting. 

Porthos handed Aramis his shirt. Aramis pulled it over his head and strutted towards the door. The hem danced around the top of his thighs. He looked over his shoulder at Athos, heavy lidded.

_They're going to leave me._

Athos's cock tightened, bringing tears to his eyes. His fury swelled.

Aramis smiled.

" _Damn you,_ " Athos spat out. " _Touch me!_ "

Aramis and Porthos beamed. They sprinted to the bed and threw themselves onto Athos. Aramis licked Porthos's hand. Porthos wrapped it, spit-slick, around Athos's cock. 

Athos gasped. He concentrated on not coming immediately; he wouldn't give Aramis the satisfaction.

"I didn't think you'd hold out that long," Aramis said. 

"I did," Porthos said. 

Athos couldn't manage a reply.

Aramis licked his own hand and curled it above Porthos's. Athos bucked his hips up into their touch. He panted, keeping his head above the waves of sensation threatening to drown him. Aramis and Porthos tightened their grip and stroked, slow and firm.

Heat rushed through Athos. He moaned. His focus narrowed. He felt the scratch of rope around his ankles and the fingers on his cock. Nothing else existed. 

He attempted to think about something else, something damp and dull. His mind refused to co-operate. It was filled by the image of Aramis being fucked by a minotaur of a blacksmith. _And all his friends--_

Athos fisted his hands, digging his nails into his palms. 

His body thrilled to Aramis and Porthos's touch. 

He pushed his arousal away, working through a fencing footwork drill in his mind. _Revise stance. Advance and retire. Thrust. Lunge. Step-lunge._

He sucked in shallow breaths.

_Thrust._

He let out high-pitched cries each time he breathed out.

_Lunge._

He tensed.

_Step-lunge._

His orgasm hit, dragging him under. He thrashed. His world was bliss.

His come hit his stomach.

He went limp.

Porthos and Aramis released his cock. Porthos wrapped his arms around Athos. Aramis untied the ropes, wrestling with Porthos's knotwork. Athos curled into Porthos, slippery with sweat and dazed by pleasure. Porthos cuddled him tightly.

"I didn't think you'd last that long," Porthos said, voice quiet and low.

"Nor did I," Aramis said, voice husky, pressing himself against Athos's back.

Athos swallowed. He moistened his lips. "Nor did I," he admitted, voice raw.

Athos could worry about how much he'd revealed; about how much his brothers now knew about him. About his desires, his needs. The limits of his control.

He _could_ worry. 

He chose not to.

He chose to trust them with himself.

He burrowed into Porthos's chest and let himself drift into sleep.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Les Boules Bleues_ = blue balls. _La Boule Blanche_ = The White Ball, a tavern.
> 
> Aramis's bible verse is Ecclesiastes 12:4, which I think is perfect for the Inseparables -- _Et si quispiam prævaluerit contra unum, duo resistunt ei; funiculus triplex difficile rumpitur._ (Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.)
> 
> Pierre the sexy blacksmith made his first appearance in "[Deception](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8343919)" and also got a mention in "[Harmony](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8599090)" (oh, and "Harmony" is the one to read if you want to find out why Athos has such fond memories of the night before ;)


End file.
